Scarlet Roses
by UnderminetheAuthority
Summary: Buffy, Xander, Giles, Cordy, Angel and Oz are the Scooby gang, full package, full punch, full supernatural. Willow is the school geek, the one always picked on, and the one with the queer personality. However, after school, she is a completely different girl, with magic on her lips, theft on her fingertips, and tricks up both sleeves. She's Willow, secret vampire. [Full Inside]
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Buffy, Xander, Giles, Cordy, Angel and Oz are the Scooby gang, full package, full punch, full supernatural. Willow is the school geek, the one always picked on, and the one with the queer personality. However, after school, she is a completely different girl, with magic on her lips, theft on her fingertips, and tricks up both sleeves. She's Willow, secret vampire, cat with the claws and almost not willing to use them. A new mystery for the Scoobies is in town, ripe for the solving. Thing is, it was always in town.

**Rating:** T for mild language and suggestive themes, though it may change to M.

**Setting:** Right after the first season finale, but without Willow, and with Oz and Cordy instead to make up for her absence. Willow learned magic on her own, Oz's wolf case is done and down, and a few Angel characters are mixed into the fray.

**Pairings:** Undecided.

**Chapter One**

Willow Rosenberg was always the smart one, solving every problem before the other kids, never missing an extra credit question, and studying five times more than she needed to. She was always the good little girl, not fighting with other students and siblings wished she had. She said please and thank you. She hugged her parents goodbye, and then never complained when she had to wait months before hugging them hello.

She was the parent's perfect child, which meant her emotions were always bottled up inside, eating away, but never breaking free when people could see.

However, Willow Rosenberg was also the school laughingstock. People knew she was the geek, and treated her like so—even with her three friends, Amy, Xander and Jesse by her side, she bore the brunt of the bullies' hurtful pranks. Quickly it became just…part of life. When Amy left that life, and smartly squeezed her way up the social ladder, Willow remained unchanged. Days resumed. Of course she dreamed of school without the bullying, but never thought it was ever possible.

Until one fateful night. She was walking home from school, taking the long way where she could see the stars shine brightest, when she met the one fateful person who changed what she couldn't. That person completely altered her view of the world for good, and nothing was ever the same.

Supernatural arts, something that never came upon her technological brain, became a part of her. Magic. Un-life. All things terrible in her Jewish faith. From then on, Willow Rosenberg wasn't mommy's little girl, and wouldn't stand for being her friends' third wheel and the schools' laugh.

.

"Oh please, don't tell me I have patrolling tonight!" Whined Buffy, giving the librarian her most fatal puppy-dog eyes. He, however, remained unfazed. This sort of thing wasn't uncommon. It was more like…a weekly occurrence

"Buffy, it is absolutely crucial you keep the vampires in check. The one day you don't, something terrible can happen, even to someone you know," Giles stressed, closing his book with a sigh.

"Ugh, not that speech again. Come on, can't a slayer have a break? I might just die without one!"

"No. They call you the slayer for a reason—you slay! That kind of calling doesn't give breaks."

"But…what about dating?!" She pleaded.

"What _about_ it?"

"Come on Giles, every high school girl's life revolves around a healthy cycle of dating semi-hot to hot guys. If I don't date…I'll…I'll…"

"—Suffer from Handsome-guy-withdrawal-syndrome?" Finished Xander, Oz behind him. They set their bags down on the center table, lunch in tow.

"Yes!" Buffy exclaimed, pointing at her best friend. "Yeah, that syndrome. You know, I'm pretty sure it takes countless lives each year."

"And I'm pretty sure Vampires take that quantity multiplied by a thousand," Giles replied. "You're patrolling, and that's final." He got up and started for his office, but not after shooting the three teens warning glances. Xander grinned at them both, and then went straight to eating.

"So, you tried that excuse again?" He asked, impressed by her persistence.

"Yeah, and I'm telling you, eventually it'll work! Well, after some groveling and a better arsenal of puppy eyes…"

"Uh-huh, that outta do it, play the damsel in distress."

"Hey! My puppy eyes are very, very dangerous. They could…they could dust vampires if I tried hard enough!"

Oz raised one eyebrow. If he weren't so stoic twenty-four seven, he'd be chuckling like Xander, or, of course, articulately pointing out all the flaws in her statement. Buffy slumped into a chair, groaning.

"Besides, there's been little to no activity lately. I mean, all the hours I could spend kickin' it at the Bronze were just spent hunting good ol' nothings instead."

"Really?" Oz murmured, tuned into the statement. "That's not normal. We're on the hellmouth—normal is demons and death galore. Either something's up or we have a lucky year."

"But that doesn't mean no activity," Giles said, a stack of papers in one hand.

"What's that?"

He dropped the papers between them. "News articles—mostly little things about stolen items, vandalisms, gang sightings among other crimes."

"There sure are a lot of them," Xander noted, fingering through the pile.

"47 to be precise."

"From Sunny-D?" He gagged.

"Yes. In fact, these crimes I would say are just human, except for the fact that the gang member sightings have vampiric descriptions. I would say there's a nest under your radar, Buffy, because they're more organized, and not nearly as dumb."

She gave him a defeated look.

"I'll be patrolling for a while, won't I…"

.

Willow stared at the board intently, drinking in what the teacher said, but not really needing to know it. To her, what they were learning—the basics of biological chemistry and the elements of life—were more or less common sense. Things came so naturally that it all just clicked, unlike her peers, who only really understood half of it. By the end, her notes were stuffed from top to bottom, all in perfect order. It was too bad they were all useless to her. Yet, for some reason, she took them anyway. It was actually comforting, and the bell ringing was the end of her comfort.

Everyone rushed out, glad to be free from the class, but more in a hurry to get to lunch quick. The line was always long for school food, and however horrifying the school food was, it was indeed still food. She, on the other hand, took her free time; Willow bought lunch, and nothing awaited her at lunch, other than the daily pinnacle of pranks.

"Miss Rosenberg?" Called the teacher. She looked up. It seemed everyone was already out except for them.

"Yeah? I mean, um, what do you need, Mr. Parnick?"

The old man smiled at her. "You and I both know what a good student you are. What do you say about a special project?"

This piqued her interests. As far as projects were, she hadn't had a good one to really think about for a while. "What kind of project?"

"See, there's a physics competition coming up—a state competition, where up to five people per school can participate. It's about designing. Designing the best thing you can, a new invention, that will compete for an efficiency prize. It can be anything, from useless junk to something brilliant."

He smiled again. "And you're a brilliant girl, Miss Rosenberg."

Willow gave him a surprised, dubious look. "Really? Wow, that's…thank you, Mr. Parnick. I'd be glad to participate."

"I knew you would be. Here," he said, reaching under his desk to bring up a couple textbooks. "Bring these to the librarian and tell him I sent you. He'll give you some other things to get you started and show you what you can use in the book shelf."

She nodded, taking the books, and grinned all the way down to the library, like a little kid who was just given candy. If candy counted as home work and books, then she certainly was.

When Willow got to the library, she realized how strange it was. She had never actually been inside the library, since the few times she tried to go in, the doors were locked and no one was inside. She'd never met the librarian either, but heard from several kids that he was a weird guy. Fortunately for her, he was nowhere in sight when she walked in, finally able to take a step inside.

Surprisingly enough, there were only three people there, all sitting in the center table like they were born to. Things were splayed on the ground next to it, bags flopped over chairs. A couple had their feet up, and all three were eating lunch there. They looked…vaguely familiar.

Then, one of them saw her, scrambled to his feet, and in the process gracelessly knocked the books on the table onto the ground. "Buff!" He hissed, looking shifty. "Um…visitor?"

Willow looked at them. They stopped everything, and looked at her.

"Oh," said the Buffy girl. "A visitor."

What were with these guys?

"Actually, I'm just a student…" she replied pointedly, holding up the books. "Looking to see…Mr. Giles?"

"Mr. Giles isn't here!" Buffy exclaimed, moving in front of the table. The other guy followed her, and on a closer look, she realized it was Xander. Wait, what? Xander? Hanging out at the _library_? Xander who teased _her_ for reading books? Xander in the _special needs_ English class?

"Yeah Wills, that's me," he laughed. Willow blushed.

"Oh…sorry…did I say that out loud?"

"Kinda."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back, suddenly wanting to get out. The last thing she wanted was to be near Xander, especially now. She had plans coming up. Ignoring the panicked looks on their faces, which completely confused her, she went up to the table and put down the books on the only clear space. Everywhere else seemed to be covered with papers, what looked like news articles, and weird old tomes with no titles. She picked up one of the articles, and almost dropped it in shock.

"Unknown wild gang attacking and robbing citizens?" She voiced aloud. Then another; "Teens with deformed faces terrorizing high school students?"

Buffy took them from her, and turned them upside down. "Oh…you don't want to read those…they're just for…a history project! Giles was helping us collect articles from a long, long while ago. No gangs here, and certainly no deformed face-y people."

"Right," Xander added, "And I'll just go tell ol' Giles you stopped by.

They rushed her out, until she was gone and away from sight, before getting down to business.

"Okay, what was that?" Buffy gushed. "No one ever comes into the library, you know. Not even teachers? God Giles is gonna be some mad…no way she's not suspicious!"

"Calm down Buff," Oz replied. "She doesn't seem like the type to pry."

Xander stared at him. "Dude, she's the only one smart enough to realize that we aren't doing a history project."

"Who even was that? Do you guys know her?" Buffy asked.

He sighed, suddenly calm. "Yeah. She was my best friend before you came. No—I don't mean like _that_, I mean before that even, she would just get all…weird. We'd been friends since forever, then suddenly, bang, she acts like we just met or something, pushes us away."

"Us?"

"Yeah…Me, Jesse…but I guess it was half our fault anyway, for not asking what was wrong."

Oz gave them both attentive glances. "She was in our math class last year; number one academically oriented student. Try reading the school news. Also number one socially targeted student, in the bad way."

"So we have a problem."

"No. Our problems are the vampires, not her."

"Which are getting more powerful," said Giles, emerging from his office. "Apparently the attacks are in a pattern, and the next scheduled one is tonight. They're looking for an ancient, magical relic, and it lies within the Hellmouth."

Buffy threw her hands up, exasperated. "Just great. Don't tell me, is it the end of the world?"

"Fortunately not. It's not a dangerous thing they're doing, but it has its staggering benefits."

.

Willow sat out in the school courtyard, unpacking her brown bagged, all natural lunch. Really, it didn't even have to be bagged, because the only thing inside was a slightly under ripe apple and a little black pill, which she took instantly. However, the tart tastes of both didn't bother her this time, because she had other things on her mind.

The articles. Her photographic memory had everything in a snapshot—recent, fresh, and detailed reports of vampires, among other nasties, in Sunnydale. There could only one explanation.

They were onto her. She just couldn't believe that Xander Harris, her best friend from Junior High on down, suspected her too, of something he would have described as 'Totally Un-Willow' in their earlier days. She had no right to be angry at him, though, because it was she who pushed him away, albeit it was for his own safety. Only bad things could come from a perfectly normal kid being friends with the polar opposite.

For her, he's considered food. Very, very, tasty, warm, coppery food. Wait, what was she thinking? No. Humans were not food. Totally not. Anyway, she had her own friends now. They just…weren't human. What was so wrong about that?

.

I'm trying somethin' different this time round, never really done an FF for BtVS before! I don't even know how I got this idea, but, well, there's always this and that about how evil vamp Willow is (Cuz she IS evil) but there's also Spike and Harmony who aren't really evil, and THEY both had soul-less phases, too. Willow needs some bad-ass in her.

~U.A


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Willow sat at her desk, the one scrawled with little stains where the paint was chipped, from coffee being 'accidentally spilt' and chairs being 'accidentally knocked' into it. She traced her pen, the old, worn, and oh-so-breakable kind, over each little crack, pitying what student had to share her miserable desk when she wasn't there. By now, the teases of her peers didn't bother her—school life was becoming insignificant. She wished she could wave it all goodbye, and drop out of the harsh stares and laughing like so many others had. Difference was, half of them dropped out 'cuz they died.

So…why couldn't she? Death wasn't really low on her to-do-list, in fact, it was already checked off.

"—And that was only the _last_ game," laughed Cordelia Chase, walking past her and to her own seat. She wanted badly to stick out her foot and trip the stupid cheerleader, but that what just making everything worse. Besides, her own special way to get revenge was a _lot_ more fun, and more rewarding.

"If we keep it up, we're so winning the championships!" Her partner in stupidity, Harmony exclaimed. Cordelia gave her a look.

"No, idiot, our win was guaranteed a _looong_ time ago. It's impossible for us to lose, Harm."

Willow almost smiled. Did Cordelia even have true friends? It seemed like she didn't know the definition of 'nice', or at least 'decent', let alone something complex for her, like 'polite'. Lost in her mind drabble of Cordy bashing, she didn't notice the object of her thoughts look her way.

"What are you staring at, dork?" She sneered. Willow looked away. "That's right, turn your eyes where it's not so bright, or my popularity might just hurt them." As if on cue, her little minions smirked and giggled. She couldn't see them, but could damn right feel em'. But, in spite of it all, she did nothing to stop them. It was always like this—their moments together before high school all consisted of gross school food in her hair, and in Xander's face…Occasionally in his pants, too. He always got his insults in actions, rather than verbally like her, since he was a boy, but during those times she was so jealous of him; he could laugh off anything that happened, or just shoot it back at the evildoer. That was the difference between him and her.

She took things to heart. He _didn't_.

He stood up for himself. _She_ didn't.

He never hurt. She _acted_ like it never hurt when he wasn't there. He was a comfort. She had never felt more alone than in those moments right after he exited her life, then never came back.

.

They were seven at the time, and had been best friends for those seven years straight. They had known each other for so long, and so close, that both had forgotten exactly when and how they'd met. Xander once had a theory that they had known each other the instant they were born, 'cuz they were actually siblings, but Willow told him it was impossible. They looked nothing alike.

"Well…well, then we had to have been in the same blankie when the stork brought us to our moms!" Xander concluded, propelling higher up on his swing as he said so.

"No silly, babies aren't born from storks!" Willow shot back, straining to get higher than him.

"What?! No, they're born from storks. What else can they be born from?"

She looked at him, stooped. "Um…babies are born from…from…I don't know! But definitely not from those scary looking birdies with the long beaks, Xan."

They argued for a while about that, but in the end, Xander won because Willow got tired of keeping up. The two friends slowed to a stop, then just sat there in comfortable silence, their closest hands intertwined past the chains of the swings.

The moment was broken when a push came from behind them, and they tumbled forward into the wood chips with yelps of surprise.

"Geez, you are so _lame_!" 7 year old Cordelia accused snidely, staring down at Willow. Willow shied away from the glance, looking down. "Careful Harris, or her lameness will rub off on _you_."

"Shut up, Cordelia! Go be stupid somewhere else."

"Oh, look, it already has."

"You're the only one lame around here. Look in a mirror for once!"

She smiled a while, shiny, all-star grin. "I look in the mirror all the time, you know, to admire my beauty. Wait a second…beauty…that's something both you and your plain red-headed geek-pal don't have!"

She gave Willow a once over, giving her kitty-cat blouse and Velcro shoes a disgusted look. "I mean, you dress like a two year old! What, does your mommy dress you to school?" The red-head shriveled. Her mom _does_ organize her wardrobe, and she liked her clothes anyway. Xander, angry enough already, took a handful of wood chips and pelted them.

"Get outta here, Cordy-moron!"

Cordelia jumped backwards, scoffed, and strut off. As soon as she left the playground, Willow felt herself tear up. Why did this always happen? Xander wrapped his arms around her, and whispered his promises of revenge into her ear. Well, that was one good thing about being the target—she got the solace of his warmth, which her parents couldn't provide.

.

Xander and Willow lay on their backs outside the school, shirts and hair still sticky from a particularly eventful popsicle-filled day. They tried washing it out hours ago, but apparently, Lady Luck hadn't shined down. Now, though, it was late at night, and she decided to give them clear skies and warm weather for watching the stars. They did this every month during the full moon. It wasn't as if their parents cared where they were, so it was no issue getting out of the house. And even when it _was_ an issue, the sixth graders could always try sweet talking out.

"That Cordy, what a bitch!" Xander growled to the sky, arm under his friend's head, twirling a strand of her hair in his fingers. Willow fidgeted.

"Yeah, she is, with the mean-ness and the annoying-ness and the overall Cordy-ness," she agreed, not wanting to use the 'bad word' Xander did. "But think of the good side. Her being in our lives only lasts eight hours five days a week!"

"And then some," he muttered.

"And then some."

They hadn't been laying there for long until he leapt back up to his feet. "Will, I know just what to do," he declared.

She flipped onto her stomach, looking up in confusion. "Huh?"

"To get back at Cordy, duh!"

She checked her watch. "Um, Xan, sorry to kinda let you off, but it's eleven thirty…"

"Exactly! Here we are, so late at night, right next to the school, and guess what? Bonus points on the fact that our school is number one for 'no security, unlocked doors, and nonexistent cops'."

Willow stared at him, jaw dropped. "You don't mean…"

"Oh, I mean, Wills."

She couldn't resist his lopsided grin and mischievous eyes. She ended up following him inside, right through the front door, but then had a burning desire to get out when she realized that they weren't turning the lights on. Regardless of what he'd said to calm her down, she was still scared of the dark that dark, and held his hand.

It was a while before they got to Cordelia's locker, because Willow was jumping at ever creak and shadow. Sometimes, he wished she wasn't such a girl, even though he liked it when she clung to him. It was hard not to swoon or laugh, or even both. When they did get there, though, it then became a matter of what they were gonna do to it anyway.

Xander first tried the lock, and of course, it was tight in place and wouldn't open. Willow pointed out that she could probably find it out by looking through files, until he came up with a better idea, and pulled out a tube of glue. Not just any kinda glue, but _gorilla_ glue, or at least, that was what the label said.

"You just…keep that in your pocket?" She giggled. "What for?"

He shifted and blushed, glad she couldn't see it in the dark. "For…my action figures…they break real easy you know!"

And so began one of the most fun moments in their lives. First it was just lining the lock with glue, then it became emptying the tube and slathering the stuff all over. It was practically glazed with it by the end, the lock so sealed it wouldn't be opening any time soon.

Revenge was so _sweet_. They knew what was in her locker—make up, books, pencils, but ultimately more makeup. And without that, if even for a day, she'd be dying all day. That's what the Queen C. got for doing her fake looks in the first period drop course instead of just at home. What a ditz!

They laughed all the way out, Will forgetting her unbeatable fear of the dark. Instead, she was scared that with all the laughter, her heart might just explode. He was experiencing the same worry, but laughed harder thinking about it. Both couldn't wait to see her face the next day; she wouldn't even suspect them of doing it! Well, maybe Xander, but not innocent little Willow with her textbooks and shy demeanor. Sometimes, condescending reputations paid off.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Xander told her, ready to part ways. His house was down the road, her's up. She smiled back, and looked at her watch. Barely past twelve.

"Actually it is tomorrow."

"Then…at school! Later Wills!"

"By Xan," She called, and he turned around to be on his merry way. She slipped her hands in her pockets, completely relaxed, and headed down the dark and lonely road.

Willow didn't remember exactly _how_ dark it was until a loud snap cracked through the air.

She stopped in her tracks, and a chill set her hair on end. With her, it felt like the world froze, listening, watching, seeing, all eyes trained on something beyond her vision.

Another snap. A hiss. A crack, close to her, behind, off to the right…

Then there was a shadow.

Will ran.

She wasn't sure what exactly that was—most likely a trick of the vision, something playing games, her paranoia manifested, something along those lines. She's read about mental slip ups, where people who are scared just see things, but she knows she heard the cracks.

Oh, like the one the just sounded, so close. Not looking back, she continued to run, and ran even faster, hoping it was in the direction of her house but not quite certain of where she even was. Her legs burned and her heart felt it was explode from fear now, and not laughter, and that was all she felt. Burning pain and fear.

Then a flash of pain, a different, sharper pain, on her shoulder blades, followed by the sickening crack of her hand onto the ground. Willow looked up, and there was her attacker, something feral and horrifying with the image of a dog. Was it a dog? A wild wolf? No. She knew her biology—something with a snout and fur and lupine eyes, but that had the spine of a human and a mashed in face, was not a wolf.

It clawed at her throat and she screamed, trying desperately to push it off. Her hand, though, her dominant one, was useless and smashed to a bloody mess, twisted in a way a hand never should. Broken? Yeah, it had to be.

She gave up, and the beast lunged for one final bite.

The bite never came.

Instead came a blunt thud, and a whine, a yelp. Its full weight landed on her, and then disappeared. When nothing else happened, she slowly cracked open her eyes, breathing heavily, head spinning. Through all panic and blurry vision she saw a man, dressed in all black, trench coat open and whipping in the wind. His face was pale, hair more so, eyes blue and ice cold. He reached out his hand, so close, but so mysterious.

Something kicked in. Instinct? No. Not instinct. Something else, something irresistible. Curiosity, perhaps, or something akin to that feeling she knew so well.

Willow reached for her savior's hand with her good one. Her thin, blood soaked fingers touched his solid ones. Was is because she was on adrenaline that his hand felt so cold? Whatever. It didn't matter….she took it.

And in that moment, her shadowed savior became her shadowed killer. He tightened his grip to something steely and pulled her up so fast she didn't have time to stand. His other hand found its way around her lower back, holding her up, viciously powerful. She looked at him, and he looked at her, absorbing her fear which came out in waves, and changed.

Willow had never been so terrified, so lost. His eyes, once the color of a winter ocean, turned feral and gold. Strange bumps and scars formed on his face. Then he bent over her, and her neck set on fire. Her head got light and she sucked in a breath, yelling in pain, eyes starting to roll back. It seemed to last forever, him carrying her, doing something to her she was too confused to see, she fighting to say conscious. When at last he pulled away his lips were red and stank of copper. She couldn't place why.

He smiled, features softening and morphing back to his callous, cool face, but a little warmer, less cruel.

"You're a funny one," she heard him say, though his voice was muddled. Did he have an accent?

"You taste great, too, pet. Gave me a nice snack."

Her eyes fluttered.

"There's somethin' different about you, though. Something in ya' blood."

Blood?

"So I'll give you a gift. I've made you immortal, pet, to return the favor."

Her eyes closed, and she felt her body grow cold.

"Sleep tight…"

And so she did.

.

The last part's s'posed to be a flashback. This chapter was mostly a little thing to tell how she got vamped, and to put a little bit more meaning and bond in the relationship Xander and Will used to have and did in the actual tv show.

~U.A


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

It was over an hour past when school was let out, but Xander, Oz, Buffy, and Cordelia were still in the library. Cordelia was about ready to up and leave, regretting having come in the first place. She just went to ask Oz if his band is playing at the bronze soon, and got sucked into research land.

"This is getting nowhere!" Xander complained, tossing down one old book and replacing it with another. "There's nothing, absolutely nothing about this stupid relic. I really, _really_, wanna hit the Bronze."

"Don't we all," muttered Buffy, half asleep. "Does the relic even exist?"

Oz put his tome face down, bookmarking it that way, and pulled out his cell. "Apparently so. I've read mentions of it, just not real information."

"Wait, I got something!" Cordelia exclaimed. They all looked at her, hopeful and ready to dash out. Then her face fell. "Never mind, it's just another mention. Oh, and a picture!"

Buffy rewarded her with a dramatic eye roll. "Congrats, Cordy, you succeeded in completely killing our excitement."

"Hey, at least I found something. What have you found? What? Nothing? Exactly."

"What will a picture do anyway? It probably looks nothing like how it does in there by now. Giles _did_ say it's been around for ages."

"Now that I doubt," she snickered, looking victorious. She held up the book and showed the image for everyone to see. It was pretty simple, in fact; a bowl, but with a crystal base. "Check it—Looks made of metal, doesn't it? Metal and jewels. I'm not great in the science department—"

"—Yeah, you're really not—"

"—But jewels don't really decompose that easily."

Oz lifted an eyebrow. "Hey, I think I've seen that before."

"Really?" Cried three voices at once. He nodded slowly, trying to recall the exact memory. "I think it was with my band…we were in the Magic Box. You know, that tiny store on the corner of town?"

"I think I've seen it once or twice. Looks kinda tacky," Buffy noted.

"Well, there was an ivory plate there, the ones usually used for carvings. That bowl, it was carved into the plate. Very detailed, life-like."

"So what? A carving won't help us."

"You're right, it won't, but the owner might be able to."

"That's great!" Cordelia practically yelled, tossing the book carelessly to Oz. "I'll tell Giles!"

Without waiting for an answer, she was gone. "And she's not coming along for the ride I guess," Xander predicted.

"That's Cordy for you."

.

They got to the Magic Box in no time—it was hard to miss, really, since it was decked with flashing lights and sparkly trinkets, which, most likely, were all fake and built to attract customers. There were giant Tarot cards and magic balls and broomsticks on display, all things that Oz thought were typical stereotypes. He, for one, has had enough of those with the whole werewolf biz about him.

When they got in, however, it was a totally different story. Gone were the broomsticks and lame do-hickeys, and present were the ominous books, eccentric little crystals, and old looking artifacts. What caught his eye in particular was a small glass trinket, no bigger than his thumb, but finely crafted into a structure. HE recognized it instantly as a model of a mathematical sequence, but then wondered what it had to do with magic.

"Oh, it's nothing special," said a new voice. Oz turned to see a middle aged woman, blonde hair pinned up and wiry. Probably the shop owner. "The model itself isn't mystical, it's the spell put on it."

"Spell?" He echoed, curious.

"A simple one, really, for good luck. The artistry of it just makes it seem more valuable, and good for ripping off tourists," she joked. He smiled.

"I see."

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" she asked.

"Actually, yes. I came in here before, a while back. Ivory plate? Carved?"

Something interesting sparked in her eyes, and she led him away. After a little moving this and a little shifting that, the plate in question became visible on one of the cabinets.

"I believe this is what you were looking for."

Oz nodded. Xander and Buffy, who were browsing the wares before, approached the plate. Xander got daring and touched it, running his finger over the ridges, clearly and distinctly cut.

"What is this? The bowl. The picture. Not the plate," Xander said. "In all honesty, miss, we came for information."

"What for?" She questioned, suddenly a little cool. The three teens exchanged glances.

"If we tell you, will you tell us?"

"…That depends on your intentions."

Buffy gave Xander a confident nod. Their intentions were good, and she seemed to be someone siding with that affinity.

"We go to Sunnydale High," he began. "We started investigating the gang attacks in town, and the patterns all get closer to our school. If the pattern continues, then the next attack is tonight, in our school. This bowl, the one we need to know about, is under our school, sealed away. The gang….the _vampire_ gang….wants it."

She stared him down, digesting the information. Xander held her stare, unblinking. At last she spoke.

"The relic is important to all things dark. The vampires of course would be after it. You…you know of the vampires?"

Buffy took a step forward, almost smiling. "Yes. I'm the slayer. You know of the slayers?"

The lady's eyes went a little wide. "Well, that's an interesting turn of events. I'll tell you, but only because it has to do with you."

Now Buffy was the surprised one.

"I'll start from the beginning. Since as far as they had ever existed, there have been the Gypsies opposing the vampires, and vice versa. I am a Gypsy, brought up to protect relics such as the bowl you wish to learn about. There lies a prophecy about a Gypsy girl, young and of this era, powerful, who finds the bowl. I don't know when, but sometime in the near decade. The prophecy states that the bowl, the chalice, the knife and the staff will come into her possession, and that you, the slayer, will end up taking her life."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her palms started to sweat. "But…aren't you supposed to be good? Gypsies are good?"

"Yes, child. And you are too."

"But…why? I won't be killing anyone in the near decade. The prophecy is wrong. I slay demons, not people!"

"I'm sorry," she said. "But if the bowl is in danger, than you must find it and keep it safe until the gypsy finds it."

"You mean until she finds it and I have to kill her? Is that it?"

"Listen! If a vampire—or any demon—uses it, then the girl is doomed anyway. The bowl, chalice, knife and staff are connected to her destiny, her mind. They are all that binds her to the world. Should anything happen, she will fall upon death, or worse."

Buffy sat down, distraught. "You know, I'm starting to hate this whole prophecy thing. Why always me? Can't the burden fall on someone else? I'll defy your prophecy."

With that, she stood up again and left. Xander followed her, looking confused, but Oz just watched them. "What is it you're not telling her?" He asked, still watching his friends outside the door.

"There's plenty I'm not telling her," the lady murmured. "The bowl has the power to repel pure, natural force. Let the vampires take that, and I assure you it won't just be the gypsy who dies."

This time he looked at her. "I know there's something else bigger than that you're hiding."

And then he left. They'd protect the bowl, whatever it really is, but then they need answers.

.

Willow took her backpack from her locker, slinging it over one shoulder. It was light, and only had a few things in it, but if Cordelia tried to mess with it then she'd have to actually act. Luckily for them both, neither saw the other. It was a little strange. Usually she's almost waiting for her, just to get a kick from making the usual snide remarks. However, Will was getting a kick in her own way. In her back pocket was a brand name, expensive mascara, the one Cordelia always used. Just wait till she went to make her pretty face and found it missing! Really, she should have learned her lesson from sixth grade.

But then again, people like her never learn.

Willow took the long path home, only she wasn't really _going_ home. It was a deserted road with nothing but stores that didn't sell anymore, and people never went to that side of town lest it be for the Bronze, but that's what made it the perfect place to hide out. Better still, the buildings were higher, provided so much more privacy for non-public girls like her.

Her destination was pretty far from the school—after walking ten blocks and running double that in half the time, she stopped at a used-to-be-hotel, that is, before it was shot out of business. There was still the huge fountain in front, but the water was mucky and stank like corpses since nothing fresh ran through. There were also two sculptures, what looked like either a wolf or tiger, flanking it to complete the look, but showed obvious signs of weathering. She wished she had the finesse to repair them, and the whole place really, but she didn't have that finesse. For the millionth time, she thought about how beautiful the place had the potential to be.

Inside was no disappointment, either. Though the lights were replaced with dimmed candles, and the surfaces could all use big re-works, there were more sculptures of all kinds, framing each door and dancing upon bare stairwells. Furniture also remained, and more stolen from others, but also had the old, dusty, and rather forgotten look. Her favorites, though, were the old and faded rugs splayed across the floors of every hall and room, filled with complex symbols, which, one millions steps ago, would have looked pricelessly amazing.

Willow set her bag down on one lonely couch, then sunk into it herself. The table in front of it, made completely of glass, reflected the clean image of her bag, yet not her. She hadn't seen her reflection in years, and didn't want to, afraid of what she'd see there. A girl? Yes. A monster? Also yes. But how, she didn't know.

"Moping again?" Asked a voice from behind the couch, a girl's. Instinctively she looked at the table to see a reflection, then mentally slapped herself when there was none. Of course there was none.

"Gwen," she replied. Yeah, it was definitely Gwen, from the words she said down to the way she said them—with a little tease, a little pride, and mostly care. There was a little silence, and Will felt two ice cold hands play with her hair, just like how Xander used to.

Xander. Just thinking of his name hurt her chest.

"You've got to quit worrying," Gwen sighed. Her hair went limp, and then the couch sank a little as her friend jumped on next to her. "Today's the big day," she continued. "If all's well, you can quit taking those balls of pure chemical crap, and we can finally watch the sunrise, together, just like how I promised."

She smiled, and they looked into each other's eyes, Gwen's light brown ones and Willow's intense green ones. However, beyond the colors and the sparks of life, neither could see that unique, bright, white-hot liquid-fire flame in the other. Eyes really were windows to the soul, or in their cases, the lack thereof.

"You've never been one for the night-life, Will. Neither have I. None of us have, but mostly you. You're new, you're young, younger than us. You have so much ahead of you, so if it comes down to it, you've got first dibs."

Willow looked away, biting the bottom of her lip.

"Besides," Gwen smirked, "We started this gang to make something precious, and we can do that in the dark just as much as we can do that in the day time."

"That's right, kiddo!" Hollered a black, bigger man from across the room, Gunn. "Like she said, today's the big day, and we got the damn right to bust some for ourselves ta' night!"

She couldn't help but laugh. "You guys can't rely on me completely; the magic thingy is pretty new to me, you know, with the concentration, and the control, and the mystery and all. It might be a lot out of my league."

"Now way, girl, you're something better than us bloodsuckers—you're a bloodsucker with some serious power. You're adept enough to make those weird pill thingies with your blood, so you're adept enough to do a trick small compared to that."

"Thanks," she murmured. Swallowing the last of her anxiety, she stood up, leather-clad friend following queue. "Then first stop, Magic Box!"

Tah dah! Two chapters in one day! I promise, within the next few, a coupe questions will hopefully be answered. Next chapter, Buffy and Co. will meet Willow and Co., with some circumstances of course.

~U.A


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Willow awoke to a dizzying pain, and the strong, merciless stink of alcohol. She'd never smelled it that powerful before, not even when Cordelia tossed a whole cup of nail polish remover over her face, and not even when her father brought home that crude, mean, manner-less client. What even happened last night? Her head felt like it would pop, and her hand was cramped.

Last night…what…what did she do? For a second she passed over a horrifying thought—did she drink?

No. No, it wasn't that. She remembered little blurred clips here and there, and it was certainly more action filled than drinking. And the pain…she remembered the pain, how horrible it was. And that man…what he did to her…that part was so odd she couldn't even deduce what it was.

She looked at herself. She looked…more normal than expected. There were a couple tears in her clothes, but other than that, all the wounds lay on her skin. Or so she recalled. Now, there was nothing, no cuts, no fading scars on her neck and collarbone. There was just her hand, caressed in a simple white bandage, and something on her neck. Was it another cut? Had to be, but she couldn't see. Stumbling out of bed, world doubling up every other second, Willow walked into the bathroom, turned, faced the mirror, and blinked.

It had to be her imagination.

But it wasn't.

Where there should have been a reflection of a bed-headed, confused young girl, there was thin air, the wall behind her ,and the picture frame on it. There was no Willow Rosenberg staring back with what would now be a look of sheer horror.

She wasn't the biggest social butterfly, nor the most into cheap novels, but she also didn't have to be one to have her suspicions. Mouth dry, she bolted to her bedroom window. The curtains were up, and were so messily configured that she knew it wasn't she nor her parents that had done so. Someone else did. But, with a brave yank, she uncovered the window. Sunlight slid over her arm in a clean, quick line.

Willow jumped away from the window, crying out more in shock than agony. Her skin sizzled. Not a good sign, she thought. Not good, not good, definitely not a good sign. After struggling to close the curtains again, she leaned against the wall, shivering even though it wasn't cold, brain going a mile a minute. So many possibilities, so many thoughts came up, but all of them led back to one thing.

She didn't want to believe. She didn't even want to think about it, but something deep inside her and right on the surface at the same time roared the truth, accepted it, wanted to explore it. She fought that urge ultimately because of fear, until her panicking eyes fell upon a bottle of scotch.

It was just sitting there on her night stand, like it was always there and was meant to be there. Opening her mouth just a crack and taking a breath in, Willow realized there was something past the smell of alcohol. The smell of metal. Copper. It was rich and made her eyes go wide.

Blood.

And that smell sealed the deal.

Something changed, she didn't know what, but the next second want took over fear. Her senses piqued tenfold, and then the bottle was in her hand, top off, and the hot fluid inside flowing down her throat. It reminded her of every food she'd ever tasted, melted together and spiked with chocolate. For the small moment she drank, Willow felt truly alive, buzzing with an energy she'd never felt in her whole life. In her exhilaration, she almost skipped over the little post it under the bottle.

'Congratulations, pet. How does death feel?'

.

Buffy sat on the roof of Sunnydale High, sighing as the last light of the day melted under the horizon, leaving only a bleeding wash of orange. Another hour has ended, and a new one began—the hour of all things under the bed and hiding in the little girl's closet. She, though, stake twirling carelessly in one hand, was the monster under the bed _for_ those monsters under the bed. When it wasn't tiresome and putting her in near death situations, it actually felt pretty cool that she was so famous.

It was too bad that being known for being just plain awesome won't scare away today's run-of-the-mill vampires. They had a mission, awful important apparently, and she knew from many person experiences that those kinds of baddies, the ones with purpose, don't flee with tails between their legs, even when it's the smart thing to do.

"You called?" Asked a serious, ever the charming voice. She smiled. He, too, could never play the smart move. He was too soft, but she guessed that's one reason why she could never let him go.

He took a seat next to her, long-tailed leather jacket whipping in the wind. Buffy pt her business face on, wanting to get this problem over and done with.

"I did. Apparently, there's another big thing in town." There was a minute of silence, and he stared at her with worry.

"Master big?"

"No. Or yes. You know what, it was really unclear," she scowled. "Did I ever mention how much I hate being the slayer?"

"Once or twice. So. Is the problem…"

"It starts with 'another' and ends with 'prophecy'. Nice try, though."

She watched him, waiting to see how he'd react. His face didn't change, not like Xander whose expression went whack in a heartbeat, but she saw it in his dark eyes. A spark of concern, something he couldn't hide along with his other emotions.

"Whatever it is, I'm glad you're telling me. I don't want you fighting another thing you might not be able to beat."

"That's the thing," Buffy replied, turning away. "It's not me who's in danger. I am the danger. I'm gonna become a killer. Just like you." It slipped out before she could stop it, and by the time she realized what she'd said, the damage was done. "Angel, I didn't mean it like that, I swear!" She assured hurriedly. "I was just…I didn't mean to…I'm sorry. Really."

A thin smile tugged at his lips. "I know. And…you're right. I can't deny the fact I've killed, and it wasn't just Angelus. It was also a little bit of me." Or a lot, he mentally added.

Buffy took his hand. "You're not a killer. Don't go broody on me now—you're only allowed to do that if I end up in the same boat."

And then stood, and the moment was gone. Back to the no-joke toughie, she tossed him a stake. "Vamps are raiding, tonight. Get to Giles and he'll fill you in—Xan and Oz are with him, down in the Library."

"The hellmouth?"

"Big surprise, huh? Just hurry up, and don't you dare let my friends get hurt."

He didn't budge. "What are you going to be doing?"

Buffy stared into the distance, eyes trained to several tiny, moving dots, so far but moving so fast.

"Saying hello to our visitors."

And then both of them were gone.

.

It had been days since she was vamped, and still felt the buzz of being newly reborn, the electric fizz at her fingertips, the thrill that came with having no heartbeat. However, she was stuck inside, unable to step into the sun and too afraid to step into the night. It was a horrible, frightening, and awfully boring gray.

Eventually, though, she would have to go out while the sun was hiding. Her savior and killer had supplied her with two other bottles of blood, and there was only half of one left, waiting in her fridge downstairs. Whether it was animal blood, or, dare she say, human blood, it didn't matter. She needed to have more, or she'd…she'd…she didn't know exactly. That was never told, nor could it be found in her research.

The doorbell rang, and she winced, hugging her light pink blanket a little closer, waiting, hoping that whoever it was would go away. Her wishing did nothing, and soon enough the doorbell rang again. And again.

The fourth time she got up and slowly inched downstairs, and stared at the door. At the fifth time, she opened it just a crack, but not before making sure the sun wasn't facing her way. There, standing in the bright yellow menace of day, was Xander Harris.

"Willow?" He asked, confused. "Hey, are you…okay?"

She stared at him through the crack, only half her face and a lot of blanket showing. "I'm fine," she responded, voice cracked.

He looked doubtful. "You've been cooped up there for days, Will. You're not fine."

"I've got the flu."

"You do?" Now even more concerned, he grabbed her arm over the blanket, and opened the door completely, dragging her out, but not in the sun.

"Hey!" Willow complained, trying to rush back to the safety of her house. Xander held on to her, not letting her go, and put the back of his hand on her pale forehead. He frowned.

"You don't seem very hot. You're…cold, actually. Maybe it's something else."

She looked away.

"Here," he said, pulling her firmly yet gently as he walked off. "I'll get you to my house. Your mom left for a business trip yesterday, right?"

Willow was about to answer until she remembered the sun. An instant before she walked into it, she pulled her arm away and dashed back to the door, then dashed back inside, then into her room where the sun wasn't there, while all the while Xander called her name.

He kept coming back to her house over the next week, her parents still away, her blood staggered dangerously over those eventless seven days. At the end she had nothing left, not a drop, because it was all licked away the day before. It made her a little dizzy, the lack of food, but what hurt a little more were the emotions—the negative feelings coursing through her like wildfire, the hate, and anger, and sadness and regret, all aimed at Xander and her Parents and, well, everyone.

But mostly her parents. She felt no shame in wanting to sink her teeth into them, for all they did to her, but primarily for all they _didn't_.

The doorbell rang. Willow was downstairs this time, watching TV, the door so close she could just take two steps and be there. When it rang again her patience was thin.

"Go away Xander," she yelled over the cartoons. "Just leave me alone!"

"It's not Xander," someone answered. The voice was unfamiliar—a girl's, one she had never heard before. Willow lowered the volume, and sat still.

"It's someone you would want to see."

She wanted to open the door, but feared if it was someone her parents knew, or someone sent by them. So she waited.

"Willow? Are you there?"

Silence.

"Come on, open the door. I know about your condition."

Curiosity overpowered her. She got up and put her hand on the door knob. Not knowing who it will be, she licked her dry lips and opened it up, full view.

It was not a figure of intimidation, nor one of familiarity. It was just a girl, a very, very young woman, maybe a senior in high school, or a freshman in college. She had slightly wavy, dark, soft hair laid loose, a kind, genuine smile, and a plain sundress, all complimented by a simple handbag.

"Yes?" Willow answered, angry at her own meekness. The girl wasn't expected this, and stepped forward.

"May I come in?"

The door widened a fraction of an inch, and Willow moved to the side. The girl took that as a yes ,closing it behind her.

"You said you know," she stated. The girl nodded, one hand slipping into her bag.

"I know it all, and a little more. You're a vampire…right?"

She bit her bottom lip, and then was inwardly relieved that this person was so observant, and even better at interpreting signals.

"It must be hard. It doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry. But you…are a special vampire."

"He said that too," she whispered.

The girl lifted one eyebrow. "Who?"

Willow started to speak, then stopped, eyebrows knit. "I don't know. His name, I mean. He was the one who…did this to me."

"He's right. You're not like others. You have blood in you, a unique kind. I know this comes on a little big, but you have a prophecy, all to yourself, a little story playing our your destiny. You're what's called a gypsy, Willow. You fight against vampires…but you are one, too. That's why you're special."

She shook her head, hands pushing back her hair in stress. "I don't get it."

The girl leaned down a little, putting her other hand on Willow's shoulder. The girl was warm. She felt good, and radiated soul.

Not remembering when she looked down, Willow looked up as the girl held something out, and reluctantly, she took it. It was a little bottle, and she noticed that more of them were in the handbag, now set down on the first stair step. Inside were little black balls, no bigger than peppercorns and looking a lot like them, hundreds perhaps.

"This is a gift from us—the Gypsies. You are the future, Willow."

The girl ruffled her hair playfully, and Willow decided she liked her. When she was about to leave, she asked, "What's your name?"

She smiled. "Jenny Calendar."

She never saw her again.

.

Willow, Gwen and Gunn walked ahead of the group—they were the ones who knew where the Magic Box was, and so they were the ones leading the way for twenty five other vampires when they got there. It was ridiculously obvious that they were up to no good, given the fact that they were not quite stealthily dressed in black, light reflecting body suits and gas masks, but hey, who could stop them? Certainly not the practically nonexistent police that reported five hours after a call.

The group entered without preamble and without invitation, smashing the door in and charging inside like organized military troops. Willow, Gwen and Gunn slowed until they were near the middle of the herd, leaving two very dominant looking vamps in the front, looking around for the owner. They didn't have to search long, because the lone human in the store hadn't moved from behind the counter, petrified with more shock than fear. She was surprised to see it was a young-ish woman, rather modern looking, and not an old person like what she expected.

One of the two vamps pulled down his hood and tore off his mask, exposing a full and very short-fused game face. He had a scar over one devil's eye, and fangs notably big. He was Riley Finn, the most powerful, and second most cunning of all 28, yet was not nearly the oldest.

He jumped in one strong bound atop the purchasing counter, first crouching like an animal, then standing squarely over the woman, practically seeping command. He was always like that—aggressive, always the top dog, and ever the bold. Monster and man alike both feared and respected him, though at home in the lair, he could be patient and kind.

Home at the lair wasn't here and now.

"You know why we're here," he snarled, nose wrinkled. "Give us what we want and I may just spare your pitiful life."

She backed up against the wall, pale, swallowing as if she was about to say something, then decided not to. Her eyes flicked around the room, then to the left, near the back door. Riley sneered.

"Don't even try—I'll tear your legs off before you could take a single step in that direction."

She swallowed one more time. "What do you want."

"Don't play games with us, woman! Give us the key to the bowl of the sun!"

He darted forward, one strong, iron hand grasping her throat, soft as butter in comparison. The shopkeeper gasped, rigid and slightly shaking. However, with some amazing will, she managed to press out another sentence. "I'd rather die than do that, cursed beings!"

Riley's eyes flashed a steely cold. That was a dare he wouldn't refuse. "Then die."

Willow held the breath she didn't need; much as she hated the Gypsies, though not personally, she owed them, and owing was one thing she hated more. Luckily for the woman, and for Willow, the death threat didn't go through.

The second vampire too unveiled herself, and gracelessly struck Riley with the back of her fist, sending him flying against a shelf, reagents and crystal antiques scattering around him. She stared at him with emotionless eyes, completely disregarding the woman's presence.

"Shallow fool, you cannot kill the gypsy. We need its blood for the ceremony."

Riley bared his teeth, even angrier than before. He knew she was right, and he had forgotten. Shoving off the broken shelf, he put his hood up and stormed out. No one dared say anything. It wasn't smart to mess with him, and it was even dumber to mess with her. She wasn't as strong as him, Illyria, nor as ruthless, but her strength was still surreal, her mind sharp, and her being devoid of emotions. She had no anger, but also no mercy, no pity, and no forgiveness. Her blue-streaked hair showed presence of a personality that may have existed before being vamped twelve years ago, but that was it. Her eyes were empty even of the little life other vampires possessed.

Illyria turned to the gypsy with those eerie eyes. "We need your blood, but that doesn't mean we need you, nor your aid in finding the chalice key."

She pulled out a knife quickly, her stoic face unchanging. Five times as fast, Willow saw her plunge it into the woman's shoulder, twisting, twisting, brutally. A horrible scream sounded, and with only a twinge of guilt, it came as holy music to her ears. Illyria emptied a nearby vial, then filled it with the rich fluid, and slid it into her suit pocket. Then she turned to everyone else, who became a little uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Find the bowl's key. Search the shop. Stay on task—I'll see no one drinking the Gypsy's blood."

They all nodded instantly, getting to work as far from the now collapsed woman as possible. Willow, on the other hand, moved behind the counter as soon as Illyria left. There the woman lay in a pool of crimson, eyes dim but lively, skin paper white, hair soaked. She kneeled down and took her pulse, suddenly grateful for the scent-blocking mask. Would it smell as rich as it looked? Would she want to drink it? Would it taste like her own, coppery and graced with an shock of something sweet and electrical?

No. Focus on the pulse, the one under her fingertips, flicking on and off so faintly it was hard to place. It was as she suspected, no more, but a little less. She searched the woman's pockets for a cell phone, found one, then dialed 911, and slid it right back in. No one would know what she'd done.

"Object identified!" Shrilled a voice. Willow jumped, evened her nerves then stood up, jittery. In the middle of the shop, a vamp held an ivory plate, engraved upon it a bowl. "The key!"

They'd finally found it, and just as the sun was minute's away from falling down.

.

This one's kinda long-ish. I intended for a different plot this chapter, but I ended up adding a flashback now instead of later. Thanks for all the reviews :D

~U.A


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

They planned their attack meticulously—almost too meticulously. Everything was organized thought by thought, step by step, so nothing could go wrong. Members had been spying on the protectors of the Hellmouth, and knew exactly how to overcome their enemies. Actually, it was more like ene_my_; the only threat posed was the slayer, she whose life revolved around ending theirs, she who sought to ruin everything that to them mattered. Most of them had never seen the fabled girl, being smart enough to avoid her, and Willow was no exception. However, given what they did know about her, it was quite likely that she went to school with her.

It was a scary thought. At any moment in time, if she were to be found out, it would take less than a second for the slayer to end her.

It would take much longer for the reverse to occur. She was strong, unbeatably strong, but so were they. Illyria and Riley alone could probably do her justice, but her fame stated that anything could happen, and they weren't willing to take that risk. That's why they decided to defeat her with her only weakness.

Her friends.

Their inside info said that she wasn't like the others, wrapped in a blanket of solitude. She had a little group of loyal humans, who she cared about more than herself. If they were in danger, the cards would no longer be on her side.

That's why Willow was in the group led by Riley, the little eight man group, sent to confront the slayer directly. Then, in her splendor, she'd be leaving her friends alone.

Perfect. If only she weren't so terrified of meeting the slayer face to face. If she had a heartbeat, it would be going too fast for her to comprehend. In fact, they could see the slayer now, standing on the roof of Sunnydale High. And she could see them, as they ran boldly toward her, down the broadest street in town.

They skid to a halt, watching as the slayer jumped off, landed gracefully on the grass, then started walking toward them. The sun was down, and they didn't need their daylight-resistant suits anymore, but they all—save for Riley—kept all hoods up and masks on. Nervousness prevented them from taking them off, even after Riley's pep talk of bravado.

"Remember," he reminded them, as they prepared for the encounter. "We aren't trying to get ourselves killed. Only stall."

He turned to us. "What makes other vampires weak is their lack of teamwork. Watch each other's backs, friends, but don't let up."

His burning gold eyes all met ours, one by one. We were all in game face, and all had a solid resolve.

"Am I interrupting a family night?" Asked a voice.

Willow stiffened. It was so familiar. Slowly, along with everyone else, she turned her head. The slayer stood in front of them, one hand on her hip, stake twirling in the other. She was dressed casual, and all of it matching in perfect synch with her nonchalant, cocky, Buffy Summers trademark smirk. She'd seen that smirk a lot.

In last year's math class. At the Bronze, during football games, in the hall when she argued with Cordelia Chase.

This couldn't be serious. She should have anticipated it—the articles in the Library, the constant absence, the always getting in trouble, the always being there when tragedy struck! It was all so in her face, all so obvious. And the shiftiness!

Buffy stopped twirling her stake, and walked toward them at a snail's pace. "Nice outfits, by the way. Didn't know gas masks and rain sheets were in style—but hey, I'm not judging."

Riley exploded from where he stood, pouncing on her like a cat that was just rubbed the wrong way. She, in turn, lashed out with her stake, and parried his attack. She kicked, he dodged, and they locked fists in a match of strength. To her surprise, they were evenly matched, but not for long. Gunn snuck behind her, and landed a punch between her shoulder blades.

Apparently, it wasn't strong enough. Disengaging with Riley, she kicked the legs out from under Gunn, sending him crashing to the ground, winded. Instantly, Willow attacked from the side at the same time as Knox, an older vampire, but Buffy saw it coming. Before Willow could blink, Buffy jumped up, kicking both of them at the same time then deflecting the blows of another tag-team set of flankers.

Willow landed on her hand, then spun back to her feet. Riley had knocked their opponent into the side of a building, but it was still not enough to shock her—three follow up strikers were countered and she broke the arms of two, just in time to block Gunn's kick. They were getting seriously beat, with cuts and bruises and snapped bones, but so was Buffy.

Nina Ash, one other Rookie vamped only half a year ago, locked eyes with Will. As if going by some unspoken decision, they dashed at the slayer, picking up the splintered planks of a bench not long ago destroyed. The slayer saw them and attacked on her own, but Nina blocked her stake, sending it flying back. Willow lunged, succeeding in nicking Buffy's shoulder, but then Buffy grabbed the plank, driving it decisively through her hand. Nina, instead of taking that as a warning and disengaging, tried to hit again. Buffy was more than prepared, stabbed Nina's wrist with the plank, then went for her heart.

Willow scrambled to weak knees, feeling the painful pulse in her flesh, and made a vain attempt to tackle Buffy from behind, far, far too slow. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see her friend get dusted, but when nothing came, she looked to see Nina on the ground and Riley in her place. For a moment she thought with dread that he would be dusted instead, but his reflexes proved to be superior, and the plank's point instead landed in his shoulder.

Buffy let go, dashing out of harm's way. She looked at Riley a little strange, before stifling a laugh.

"Wow, never thought a soulless monster would care about his fellow vamps," she said pointedly.

He glared, and pulled out the plank, letting it clatter against the concrete. Blood spilled down his suit, but it wasn't a fatal amount. "We aren't your run of the mill kills," he spat.

"No…" she agreed, tilting her head to the side. "…You're just kills a little harder to catch. Kills with a mission."

"Our mission is salvation. Power. Life. Pride. You would know nothing of how light the dark can be."

"Some mission you've got—find a piece of metal and ruin a girl's life? What, are you running out of salad bowls?"

He scowled. Subconsciously, the eight of them drew into a tight herd. "You may not think so, but vampires have their own lives, sets of emotions, things to protect. Only the ones who don't know who they are wander aimlessly like zombies. Vampires who do know who they are can love and feel, just like you corrupt and despicable humans, who do nothing but hurt!"

Willow could tell that what Riley said had hit some but of nerve in Buffy, through her dense skull and joking personality. She tried not to show it, though. "You're the ones who hurt. The vampires I hunt and am _doomed_ to hunt as long as I live _kill_ their loved ones, friends and family. What makes you different?"

Riley grinned. "What makes you different? How considerate are you? You've just left your friends vulnerable for quite a while. You knew there were more of us, and that they'd go for your friends. But where are you? Not by their side. There are only eight of us here, and you haven't dusted a single one of us yet. Picture nineteen more, fighting your helpless school pals, led by a woman smarter than you and I combined."

Her eyes went wide, worry and fear now more than visible. Willow felt a stab of guilt, but more than that, a burst of victory.

Buffy turned around, and started running toward the school.

"Stop, slayer," Riley commanded.

Reluctantly, she came to a halt and turned around again, fists clenched in rage.

"Go to Sunnydale High, and I guarantee we will kill your friends, no exception."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're bluffing. How do I even know that there are that any of you there?"

"You don't, but will you take that chance?"

She said nothing. Willow could smell her anxiety like the rankness of the sewers.

"Don't show, let us finish our mission, and we won't kill them. We won't even taste."

She was silent. Riley, acting in his success like the wound wasn't even there, led them down the street and to their destination. As soon as they were gone, Buffy sat down on the edge of the road, wondering what exactly had happened.

.

Everything happened so fast. _Too_ fast. First there was Angel by the door, Giles filling him on the situation, and the new prophecy, and Oz with Xander loading up on the arsenal. Then…then there was a huge explosion, or what felt and sounded like it. There was a huge ringing, a pain in their ears, and the world was doubled up and spinning. Oz's eyes watered and his nose burned as his hyper-senses became overloaded with the chemicals, but past that, he could see countless shadows exploding from where Angel once was. The vampire seemed to be fighting those shadows, but he was overpowered easily.

That surprised him. Angel, at times, was stronger than Buffy. But…there was just too many. He saw Angel dusted one, then another, but after that it all became too much. They pinned him down, then he disappeared in the smoke and blurring light like a candle blown out of the air.

Xander yelled an incomprehensive phrase, jumping over Oz with a crossbow. He shot once, went wide, and shot twice. The third shot went with a whistle in the ceiling, as two vamps bowled him over. He couldn't see what happened to Giles, if he was even here, but chances were he was taken out the second they came in. Oz suddenly hated his lupine condition more than ever, stunned helpless by a simple gas. Even Xander could put up a better fight than him.

It wasn't long before two sets of strong hands lifted him from the ground, and propped him onto a chair. Then, he had the consciousness just enough to feel them bind him to it. It was weird—why would they hold him hostage instead of just kill him? That would be so much easier for them. And, by what he knew about vampires, they preferred to eat their prey, not tie them up. It was likely that they were hostage for Buffy, and she wouldn't be saving them now. Slayer or not, no one could single handedly take out so many of them.

His senses began peeking back up. He could see, but his head ached and his nose was numb. His tongue felt like someone coated it with embers, searing and foul tasting. Xander, Giles, and Angel were also next to him and also bound, though Angel looked like he'd been chucked through a wood shredder as well.

After that he noticed the candles. All the candles, the flames with color so vibrant, of greens and blues, but no reds, and not a single orange. He couldn't feel the heat, only a strange, swirling, bitter cold. Around the candles were the shadows, only they weren't shadows anymore, just people in sun-reflecting suits. Vampires. There had to be at least twenty—twenty five? Six? Something like that. Yeah, there were twenty six.

As his smell started to return, he recognized the scent of the Magic Shop, somewhere behind the candles and scent of the monsters. It was then he saw what both the candles and the vamps were circled around; the ivory plate, the same one from before.

The vamps started chanting, strange words he didn't know. They reminded him of some lost language, akin to Babylonian and Greek and Mayan alike, but different at the same time.

There was a hissing sound, and then a flash, and another flash, and even more after that, each one closer to the one before. In each flash, the ivory plate got darker and darker until it turned pitch black, and melted into the ground. A gaping hole formed from that blackness, and from the hole, a shining bowl. The hole disappeared and the vampires changed their chanting, holding out their hands. One of them, a woman with blue streaked hair, went to the bowl and poured something inside. It was blood—the smell was too obvious—but had a spark of energy to it.

As soon as the blood hit the bowl, it set on fire, engulfed in green licks of flame. It erupted around the circle as their chanting got louder, and, in a final flash, it all vanished. The bowl was still there, but all the candles and every bit of fire had been extinguished.

Murmurs ran through the vampires. Oz, even with his super hearing, couldn't hear. Then the murmurs changed to something else, and half of them dispersed, leaving. The blue haired woman and about ten others stayed behind, talking amongst themselves.

They moved toward Oz and the rest of the hostages. A vampire, distinctly female, nursing a wounded wrist, looked at the blue one. "What are we going to do with them?" She asked.

The blue one stared at Oz with empty eyes, then at Xander, and Angel, and Giles. They had awoken sometimes during the ritual, and glared back with hate and weariness both.

"Kill them," she demanded. "I don't want them alive."

Another, also female, whose hand was soaked in blood, went a little rigid. Oz narrowed his eyes.

"But, um, Riley promised the slayer they wouldn't be hurt," she said nervously.

She stared at the one with the bloody hand, penetrating with her gaze. He almost pitied her, but was mostly curious. The vampires he fought against would have jumped at the chance for a bite.

"_I _made no promises," she replied.

The other one shifted uncomfortably. Xander muttered something under his breath, and Angel watched with an unreadable expression.

"Well…I…Riley would want his word to be kept," the vampire protested weakly. "The slayer is trouble for us already. She'll have more reason to come after the nest…should we…kill her friends…."

There was a long, heavy, tense quiet. If Oz was religious he would have taken that time to pray.

"Fine," the blue one said, emotionless. "Just don't take too long."

Then she turned around and walked off, the others following after a moment's hesitation. The one with the wounded hand stood still for a while, then untied Giles, who rubbed his wrists and looked at her, confused, cautious. She untied Angel, who stared for half a moment, then gone the next. Then Xander, who looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how to say it. Oz was last and speculate the whole time, running through countless theories in his head, infinite what-ifs.

When she bent over him, working the ropes skillfully, he tried to see her face. The mask, however, obscured his vision; her eyes were there, not in game-face, large and framed with dark and natural lashes, though the color was unidentifiable. What struck him, though, was the way she smelled. Not completely concealed by the smell of the vampire and the fire and the night was the smell of paper, incense and lavender. They didn't strike him as a normal vampire's scent.

She finished, and he stood up. "Thanks," he said quietly. She was still for a moment,

"I didn't free you because I particularly wanted to." A pause. "It was just the smart thing to do for my family."

And then she left.

.

Guest: She was vamped in 6th grade :)

Kingdomalith: Thanks for the reviews! I dunno if Willow _likes_ being a gypsy :L

~U.A


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